


Make It Stop

by MartianMadness66



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: F/M, Its him, M/M, and its a ride, dont know what this is, forgive me its 1:30 in the morning and my brain is sad, guys im sorry this is like a 1500 word drabble, i....., idk if its good i just kinda zoned out while writing it, in a weird pov but yeah, pauls perspective?, weird timeline too, well see it thats good or bad, yeet here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21189944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartianMadness66/pseuds/MartianMadness66
Summary: A drabble about sad Paul.





	Make It Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Genuinely don't know what this is or how to describe it at all... but here I am posting it anyway! Might regret this when i wake up, maybe not. We'll see.
> 
> I swear I'm getting to I Owe It All To You, that's actually what I originally opened this word doc for but... lol nope not what my brain decided to work on...

Sometimes there are times where you realize that you are so completely in love with someone, so lost in them and being around them, that nothing else seems to matter. And the moment you realize it, you can either enjoy that moment of surprise and move on, or you can be completely held hostage by it, trapped by the fear and shock of being so completely hooked to another person. Because really, it’s terrifying. It’s terrifying realizing that no part of your life has escaped the influence of this person, no part of your life can ever return from their influence if you were to lose them. Losing that person would immediately completely weaken every aspect of life. So, losing them is not an option. When you’re happy, it’s easy to just go about your day, loving this person, laughing with them, just existing as part of their world. Those days, you can ignore the overwhelming, terrifying hold they have on you because those are the good days. But then come the days where things aren’t good. On those days you cling, desperately, irritatingly. Because losing them would kill you. But you lose them anyway because very rarely are loves long-lasting. You’re forced to watch as your love leaves you, drawing it out painstakingly. On some days, you think it would just be easier to isolate yourself. On others, you think it's better to be numb. Overall, you think, love is one of the worst things a human being can experience because it’s the best possible thing that could happen to a person, but it’s the easiest thing to lose. Why should it happen at all if it’s so fragile? You don’t want it to last. When you’re crying alone in bed all night, you can’t help but blame yourself. If only hadn’t been so clingy, if only you hadn’t gotten so used it, treated love as something of a given, you wouldn’t be here now, suffering as you are. Love is only good at a distance. Something to see in the movies and dream about. Experiencing it, though, is a different story. Not worth it.

You discover another life-changing realization one day, while in the kitchen looking for a drink. Your eyes briefly dance over the knife block on the counter and you’re stunned by how appealing they look. You think, no, you’re just having an off day. And when that feeling never goes away, you begin to scare yourself. Why are you suddenly okay with this? What is it that you really want to do? Do you really want to… die? Doesn’t that seem extreme? Of course, it's extreme, you tell yourself. You’re just being dramatic. But when your presence only irritates everyone around you, everyone that means so much to you, all the people who have stood by you for so long, _your love_, you’re left with the distinct and terrible idea that… maybe it’s not extreme. If your existence is only a bother, then what’s the point of existence? You’ve been numb for so long, your brain is already shutting down, waiting for you to stop everything, relax. When you watch him with her, you think that he’ll be alright. If he’d miss you anyway. Which, I mean, he already left you. How bad could it really be for him? He doesn’t appear to miss you now. And the others…. No. You hear them talk about you. They quiet when you walk into the room, which is almost worse. But you’ve stopped coming in. You’ll stand outside sometimes and listen to them talk about you and you’ll think to yourself, I deserve this. It’s true, I know. They only acknowledge you because you make them. Which leads to more talking, but you can’t seem to stop. You’re so scared of your own thoughts and you want someone to see that you’ve stopped trying, you want someone to see how scared you are, but they don’t see it. And so you sink lower. And that thing that’s scared you for so long, that thought that you’ve come back to for so long becomes stuck in your head like a mantra. You think about it night and day.

But it’s still scary. You don’t want to be alone. You need to be wanted – at all. And so you make a call. Slightly unexpected and very desperate, but you hope and hope and hope and –

And she says yes. And then she’s there and she cares and she _sees_ and it's so overwhelming that for the first time since you lost him, you break in front of someone. But she’s there and she catches you, holds you safely against her, let’s you break. She speaks soothingly to you, calms you. She stays. She comes with you sometimes, because she knows its hard. And she loves you. She doesn’t interfere when they talk about you or when they make fun of you for bringing her, but she’s gentle when you go home. She tells you that it's okay. That she’s there for you no matter what. And just having her see you, be with you, starts to slowly mend the tears in your soul that lost love left.

She brings renewed purpose to your life. She brings you life itself. You have your own family, your own little world to focus on rather than your dark thoughts. You breathe fresh air and wander fields. You watch the sky in the mornings and think to yourself how much you’ve been missing. You thank yourself for reaching out, for not giving up on love. Because you know as much as love as the capacity to destroy, it also has the same capacity for healing. She brings back your sense of wonder and gives you something you’ve never known – contentedness. Even with him, you never felt it, though you never doubt your previous and continued love of the man. Over the years, you begin to figure out how you hurt each other with your own insecurities, how, no matter how much you loved him, he wasn’t good for you then, and you weren’t good for him. It hurts to realize, but she helps you through it. She lets you talk and tells you she’s proud of you for reaching that conclusion. And when you tell her it doesn’t feel good, she said growing pains are so-called for a reason.

It doesn’t matter what you’re figuring out in your head, though. Whenever you see him or talk to him, you lose your mind. Words fail and you feel sick every time. When he calls, you can’t breathe. It’s like time stops and the knives look appealing all over again, even though you know that’s not how you feel anymore. She tells you it will take time to fully heal, for both of you. That one day, you’ll both work up the courage to talk it through, even though it's scary. You can’t tell if you look forward to it or not. But when you do see him next, clinging tightly to her hand, you’re relieved that you’re not as scared as you thought you’d be. As things slow down, though, and conversation peters out, that restlessness creeps back in. That insecurity and fear of rejection and you’re intrinsically drawn to the one source of comfort you have – the piano in the corner. People ignore as you play but you start to calm down again. You don’t dare look at him because you know him well enough to know he’d like nothing more than for you to never play an instrument in his presence again, but you continue. You have to.

Every time you see him is like that. Fear and insecurity and the continuous uphill battle against them and him rejecting every attempt. When he finally snaps, you give in. You stop trying. She tries to console you, but that night you don’t sleep. The kids are there so you can’t catch a break. When you return home, you spend a few nights in your office, nervously trying to expel the returned numbness. Eventually, she sits you at the piano like she did all those years ago and doesn’t leave until you’re playing. The whole time you’re playing, you think about the duality of love, of its fire-like intensity and its ability to completely destroy everything that lays in its path. You think of its ability to grow flowers in the ashes of the burned, of its gentle, rejuvenating breezes and its life-giving rain. You wish you could have them both, the rain and the fire, but you know you can’t. They exist as opposites, to balance everything out. Maybe one day his fire will gentle from a passionate heat to a simple warmth. And maybe one day her rain will intensify from a soft drizzle to a cutting strength. Maybe you’ll be left barren, with neither soothing rain nor reliable warmth. Or maybe the fire will die out from your life, leaving you with only rain. You can’t see a life where the rain dies and the fire stays.

Regardless of how things turn out later, for now you have her, and no matter how distant, you still have him. And you keep playing.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if this made any sense, if you liked it or hated it, if you just want me to work on my wips or if you want to see more like this. I'm kinda curious to know what this thing is to other people.


End file.
